


Issues of the Family Kind

by anonymous_sibyl



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Dark, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-15
Updated: 2006-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-04 03:49:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymous_sibyl/pseuds/anonymous_sibyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was such a darling baby, and she was practically a saint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Issues of the Family Kind

**Author's Note:**

> _Angel the Series_, Season 5. Sort of.
> 
> This work is licensed under a [Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License](http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/). None of the media or characters written about in my fanfiction belong to me and I make no profit from these works. 

He looked away when it happened, forced to his knees with the force of his heaving, so he didn't see it, didn't see the body fall, blood dripping from the wound that she must have, had to have, left in that guy's chest after she, oh jesus christ, stabbed him.

The guy had been nuts, sure. He'd rushed them, come running straight for them, yelling something crazy, and she'd reached into her pocket—coat, not pants, because that leather was clinging to her in all the right places and she'd never fit anything that long and thick inside of it—and pulled out some big sharpened stick and just rammed it right into the guy. She didn't even ask him what he wanted, didn't say a word, just stabbed him. Fucking crazy, crazy as the guy. The dead guy.

Shivering, he wiped the back of one hand across his lips, then swallowed, the taste of bile and stale beer going down hard. God, he could use a smoke. She had the same idea because she was reaching into the front pocket of his jeans while he was kneeling there sweating on the ground, and her fingers brushed his cock and squeezed, just once, hard enough so he couldn't pretend she didn't do it. She shook a cigarette out of the crumpled pack into her hand and stroked it across her lips.

"Got a light, champ?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." The Zippo opened with that snap, and she laughed as the flame illuminated her face. "That guy," he said, gesturing somewhere behind her. "Is he… dead?"

"Dead guy?" She smiled then, secret smile curling over her burgundy lips, just like his tongue back inside the club. She stepped to the side, blue smoke rising up around her face. "Do you see a dead guy?"

There was nobody there. Nobody, no body. The ground beyond her was empty, coated with a fine layer of grit. "Jesus." He laughed and took the hand she extended so he could climb to his feet. "I must be drunker than I thought. I could swear you stabbed that guy, that crazy guy, in the chest." He shook his head from side to side. "Sorry."

She laughed again, hands on her hips, fondling the leather, the smoke from her cigarette framing her crotch. He was sober enough to realize she was standing like that on purpose, and horny enough to accept the invitation.

"Yeah? You up for it, sport?"

When she said up, his cock twitched. Yeah, he was up. He leaned in toward her, eyes on her tits and hands heading for her ass, but before he could reach any part of her, she had that cigarette between them, filter at his lips. He took a drag, held the smoke deep in his lungs, and waited for the rush. He groaned when it hit him, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. He exhaled to the side, away from her, and saw the cigarette arc through the air to land in the grit beyond them.

"Lots of ash," he said, thinking of the hundreds of smokers that would have had to light up in this alley to leave that kind of grit.

"Dust," she said, voice muffled in his neck, where she was kissing and licking and…

"What the hell?!" She was biting, and hard. He had no objection to hickeys, liked to get them as much as he liked to give them, but this was something else. "Ouch!"

He pushed her away, or tried to anyway, hands clenched on her coat, fingers gripping, scrabbling for purchase, and she was still fucking biting him! He felt something wet at his neck, flowing down his collar, and he didn't think it was good. She was making these noises, these crazy fucked-up noises, and, swear to god, he thought she was chewing on him or something.

"Connor, Connor, Connor," she said, and he couldn't figure out why she was calling him that, because he gave her his roommate's name in the club, figured she was some city trash that he'd bang and leave, and he didn't want anyone like her to be calling him. What would Tracy think? What would his mom think? He'd told her his name was Dennis and she'd laughed, long and hard. He couldn't remember now what she said her name was.

"What?" That's all he could say. It's like all the words were in his head, swirling around, but he couldn't catch them, couldn't pin any down and make them stick to his tongue and slide over his lips. "What?"

She dragged her fingertips across his mouth, pulling down his bottom lip, pinching it between her fingers and tugging back and forth. "I used to feed you when you were a baby."

"What?" The images were there, but he couldn't touch them, couldn't make them into anything. Her with lighter hair, a man, no, two men or three, and another woman, all of them together. He couldn't focus, he was dizzy, maybe he was drunk and this was all a dream. Maybe…

"Would you like me to feed you now, Connor?" She slashed at her chest with the stick she'd used on that dead guy—_no body, nobody_—and pulled him toward the cut. "Come to mama, baby."

It tasted awful, like nothing he'd ever had before, and it laid over the cigarettes and beer like a greasy film, making him want to throw up. He gagged, tried to twist away, and the ragged edge of the wound caught on his teeth. "Oh, god. Stop."

She thrust him away from her and he landed on his ass in the alley. "Sure. You've had enough. All we have to do now is wait."

_Wait._

_Wait._

_Wait._

She was smoking when he woke up, and the cut on her chest was gone, healed as if it had never been.

"Nice nap?"

"On my back in a piss-soaked alley? Yeah, it was great." He coughed and spat, trying to rinse the taste from his mouth, only now it was the beer and onion rings that tasted awful, not the blood. He brushed the ash off his pants when he stood. "Give me that."

"Aw, honey, you don't want this." She tossed the butt away and pointed toward the club, where a group of young girls milled about. "You want that."

"Pussy _and_ plasma," he smirked. "Nice."

She grimaced in disgust, pushed her dark hair back from her eyes. "And you were such a darling baby. All sweet smelling and plump." She looked from him to the crowd at the door. "Now I'm getting hungry."

A blonde girl stumbled away from the crowd, giggling and singing to herself. He pointed at her. "That one looks good enough to eat."

"Like father like son," she mumbled. "Of course you like blondes."

"Father," he repeated. Now that's a memory he was sure he hadn't had at the beginning of this evening. When he left home, and it wasn't home anymore, either, father meant something entirely different than it did now. Earlier it meant baseball, dinners, and help with his homework, now it meant Angel, sinking underneath the water, singing a song, slitting his throat. "Yeah. Where is dear old dad? What's he been up to since he rewrote my entire life?"

"Oh, get over it, Connor. At least you weren't in a coma for a year." She examined her nails closely, then buffed them on her shirt. "Do you know what that does to your skin?"

"I don't remember you being this annoying, Cordelia."

"You never knew me in high school."

"I was just a twinkle in dad's eye when you were in high school."

"Oh, that's nice." As he watched, her face shifted, ridges appearing above her eyes and fangs lengthening, then changed back to the girl gone wild he'd thought he picked up in the club earlier tonight. He mimicked her, remembered the time he'd feared this, and she looked pleased. "Time to go, Connor. I'm sure Daddy misses you."

Oh, yeah, he bet Soul Boy missed him a lot. Still, it wasn't a bad idea to pay Dad—and the rest of them—a visit. Maybe he could do it right this time, find Angel a more permanent grave and make that bitch Fred sorry she ever tasered him. He took Cordelia by the hand and started walking toward the blonde.

She hissed in exasperation. "Do we really have time for a snack?"

"No, we have time to get her car keys."

He was wiping the blood off those keys and watching Cordy wipe a trail of crimson from her mouth when he finally understood what had happened tonight. "Dennis," he laughed. "That's funny."


End file.
